A hui hou kakou
by LeonardKnight
Summary: Set during an alternate ending for Leroy and Stitch. How would life be in Kauai be like if Hamsterviel's plan for revenge suddenly went wrong, resulting in a mass explosion that took the lives of every experiment present including him and all the Leroy's. A one shot tale about dealing with loss and what is takes to finally move forward.


Finally got around to update with a new story. Took me sometime to finish this as I was kinda busy working on other stuff. Anyway lemme know what you think of my first one shot.

Also a special shout out to Euphonemes for the super extra help. Thanks so much man!

Enjoy reading!

* * *

Kauai, one small link in a Pacific archipelago. Each year, its beautiful beaches are loaded with islanders and foreigners, tourists and locals alike who would frolic on its sandy shores or ride the tall blue waves. Sooty wisps, floating from a volcano's caldera lambent with magma, curl into the humid air, and mingle with the scents of poi and pineapple drifting away from the luaus. Beautiful, serene — paradise.

And yet, this paradise harbors a complicated past. A dark past. Years earlier, this tiny island bore witness to a genocide. Now, nothing more than an incident, a cruel and lazy label for the horror that was wrought. And the scene of it all, the mighty Alohapalooza Stadium, a distant memory. In its place, among shattered stone, a memorial stood.

In the middle of the ring of rubble, of shattered archways and broken bleachers, there stood several shiny granite walls — in the center of one, 'In remembrance of,' written in gold. Text sprawled from the gold center. Names, numbers and function of every experiment that ever existed. Each grouped according to series — better to identify them. Apart from the text, the far ends of the memorial walls contained images of some. Sparky, Slushy, Nosy, Fibber, Remmy, Slick. And more. Life-like, beautiful portraits. Like they were still living on Kauai.

In the distance, two figures walked. Slowly, trapped in a moment of somber reflection. Eventually, they reached the sharp granite edges mounted atop a marble platform.

Experiment 626 — 'no, Stitch' — cautiously, anxiously, stepped toward the gold center. Knees knocked on their way to the ground. Several claret bouquets poured from his arms. Gentle paws meticulously picked off the stray leaves and twigs that had escaped rustling trees. Weary eyes went up. Up to the sprawling names. The effusion of scented candles, the ones he had left before, picked up on the wind and harassed his nose.

His heart sighed.

He anticipated and dreaded this night. The weary eyes grew wearier with each passing year. But, for the names on the wall, for his ohana, he marched to the granite walls on this night each passing year.

"You miss them, don't you?"

"Ih, meega miss them." Terse. Sad.

He had missed them on this night five years ago. They were all there, ready to fight, to save this little island. Waiting for him to arrive. And the monster had been there, too, ready to take it all away. Hamsterviel's 'death cannon' - it had lived up to its name, though its creator hadn't planned it that way. Long ears could just make out his cousins' shouts. Wide eyes glimpsed the top of the arena. They waited for him. He was nearly there when the incredible explosion engulfed the Alohapalooza in searing white flame, when it incinerated everything and everyone. He had stopped, unable to move. Fell to his knees as the remains of his cousins whirled freely in the rising wind. His claws clicked as he tried to catch them. To bring them home.

So many lives lost.

From that point on, a lot of things have changed.

He knew he was not to blame. But he did so anyway. A cruel twist of fate had left him torn, ravaged, defeated. The helplessness of catching ashes in the wind persisted. Every day, the gruesome detail played like an endless loop in front of his glassy eyes. The sounds of screams had him blocking his ears. To remind him he could have done something — anything. Every day, and especially this day.

The explosion left behind more than rubble in its wake. When the news of his ohana's utter annihilation reached the Grand Councilwoman, she sent her warm and sincere condolences, on behalf of the whole Council, and of the whole galaxy. Kind, but far from anodyne. Of course, it did not stop at her. This event was big news, beyond local island news. A galactic media frenzy erupted, a yearlong and brutal firestorm. Everyone was so sorry it happened, they felt just awful and terrible. And then, like everything else, it did not matter anymore.

Now, it was dull in Kauai, without any experiments. Without little monsters running amok, wreaking all kinds of havoc, the island returned to the sleepy little town that it once was. The boring little town. Streets once filled with Tantalog chatter now whistled with the wind, desolate and empty, a graveyard for hopes and dreams. An ugly reminder of what used to be.

Stitch was always reminded, especially so during bedtime. He cried himself to a half-sleep, night after night. There was never an escape from the cousins who would suddenly appear. Who would beg him for help. And he would close his eyes, to keep them out. Somehow, they would always get in.

It took a lot of time, but he did come to realize they were never going to return. In that moment, half of him died. Stitch was physically impervious, but his mind had been riddled as it tried to cope with the situation that came afterward. The unanswered questions, the ones that would remain unanswered forever…he bottled it up, locked them away.

"Stitch soka, cousins." His voice broke. They were breaking through their locks, swarming from the shadows. He swallowed the emotions, and they took his voice with them. The somber alien's mouth twitched, desperate to free his words.

Stitch's face heated up, and he balled his fists. From a few steps back, his companion studied him, trying to bury the frightened look upon his own face. They both knew they were thinking the same thing.

"Hey…listen couz, I know you're upset about losing family, but…come on, five years have passed. Everybody but you has moved on…we can't bring back what we lost." Reuben — Experiment 625 was the only other designation not on the wall — tried in vain to console his gloomy cousin. A meager effort. A halfhearted one.

"Naga! Achi baba, isa family! Dinko te fabba, Reuben!" He pulled his voice from the depths, but it had been left cold, angry. He ran out of things to say that could change his mind. The emotions, the questions, it all broke free, right then and there. A single teardrop trickled down from the canthus of his eye.

The fluffy fur ball left the wall. Left his cousin.

Reuben's eyes were wide, unable to blink in the light of Stitch's harsh truth. An unfair truth. One he wished Stitch would take back. Reuben's feet plodded on tough gravel as he caught his cousin.

"Hey, no need to be throwing shade, man!" When Stitch turned his head away, Reuben sighed and softened. "Look…they were my ohana too, just like they were yours. We're on the same side here, couz. But, y'know, just because you're all depressed doesn't mean you get to act like a total jerk!"

Silence passed between them as Reuben's wide gaze narrowed. As anger and sadness passed from the golden body. Reuben stood back, gave his cousin some space. To soften the blows.

"I'm…geez, I'm sorry," he told Stitch. "I didn't mean it like that, I just…I'm worried about you, is all."

Stitch had laid bare his truth, and so had Reuben. The world had moved on. But it took time before they all had found their own unique coping mechanisms. Looking back, Reuben had watched as everyone battled their inner demons.

Lilo grew increasingly distant from what remained of her family — even more so than before. Years passed slowly for her, the memories entrapping her in a thick skin. Eventually, she did molt, replacing sadness with a terrifyingly dedicated focus on "important stuff," though Reuben never could figure what was so important about it all. But he had said nothing — her fragile mind had needed the stability.

Jumba had needed that stability, too. Those years of research and hard work, the endless hours cooped up in his lab, creating his beloved experiments – all consumed in white flame. He spiraled into a deep and dark depression, and stayed there for some time. Perhaps it was the rational scientific mind — or something else entirely, Reuben had never asked — but eventually, Jumba reasoned that it was illogical to dwell on the past. He moved forward instead. He busied himself with creating new inventions for the betterment of mankind, and it seemed to work in his favor — though Reuben doubted it was entirely for the better.

When it came to Pleakley, the one-eyed Plorgonarian adopted a much simpler, but equally ineffective, approach. Whenever someone brought up a topic involving the experiments in a conversation, he tamped it down with inane banter, white noise to bury the painful memories of the day of the white flame. Barring that, Pleakley would vacate the whole room, out of earshot, and out of memory.

Gantu perhaps made the most radical change of them all. He really did turn over a new leaf after defecting, and as a result, he had been offered his old job as rightful captain of the Galactic Federation. While on Earth, capturing the experiments and classifying them all as trogs, he had actually grown quite close to some of those in his custody. When they passed, the guilt over his past actions, over the life wasted in anger and ignorance, took him back into space. The big dummy had vowed never to return to Earth.

Reuben himself stayed on Kauai and established his own sandwich stand — it only seemed natural for him. He turned a worn down food hut into a sandwich shop in honor of his cousin, whose designation, Experiment 062, was etched into the granite wall. Frenchfry had been pursuing his most deeply held dream when the white flame struck. The food hut had started falling apart after its owner — its dreamer — had gone. Years later, in front of this wall, Reuben had promised to continue Frenchfry's dream. The sandwich shop had grown into quite the successful business, and Reuben had taken some comfort in helping Frenchfry's dream soar.

But to truly bring him closure, Reuben had followed the suggestions of a close friend. He visited a psychologist and joined support groups, aching to talk but resigning to listen. His voice would take a long while to rise again. But it did. And in the process, Reuben's personality evolved, too. His brash attitude had grown more measured, more cautious and tempered with greater sensitivity toward his treatment of other people — especially when dealing with customers who ordered his sandwiches all wrong.

For Stitch, however, life stood still. The sad experiment would just wallow in months-long bouts of sorrow, spreading it wherever he went. Family or friends who intervened would be met with bared teeth, telling them to stay away, to leave him alone. Reuben had learned to leave him be. He could do nothing to help. Not even Lilo, who refused to leave his side, could fill the hole his heart now bore.

The wall stood behind them, unchanging, as Stitch picked at the grass. There was a possibility he had been mulling, but one he was reluctant to air. Until now. "Jumba make new experiments, ih?" Hopefulness. And desperation.

Reuben needed a few quiet seconds before he could cobble together a proper response. "Jumba could remake the experiments, it's possible." Reuben watched his cousin's eyes brighten for the first time in who-knew-how-long. It was a shame that Reuben would need to tarnish their gorgeous luster. "True, the new cousins would look like the original ones. And, I suppose, genetically, they'd be the same. But, the one thing Jumba cannot do is retrieve their old memories. They'd be the same…and completely different. They wouldn't be our ohana…I'm sorry, man."

The answer, though delivered calmly and lovingly, landed a heavy blow on the blue one. Desperation had muddled Stitch's mind, but with clearer sight, he understood that no matter how many experiments Jumba made from scratch, he would never be able to bring back his cousins' pure and original form. Only copies would remain, sad facsimiles of the ones taken by the white flame.

"Got any more brainbusters, couz?" Reuben followed, sounding flippant but earnestly ready to take on more of Stitch's queries. To intervene.

"Naga…meega frafu nupooki." He bowed his head, contrite, shameful, with dimmed eyes.

"No, you're not wrong, Stitch. It's okay to feel that way." Reuben moved closer. "Y'know, we…we are the lucky ones. We're alive because of them. Because of what they gave. And we get to share the beauty of that…that sacrifice, that love, with our ohana."

And Stitch shattered. "Naga! Naga bootifa — big ohana lost — everyone gone!" His voice was weak, cracking under the immense pressure of bottled anguish. Tears teased from the corners of his eyes, and he fought to hold them in.

"No, man, not everyone. You still have me and Lilo — and Jumba and Pleakley. Sure, it's not everybody, I…I know it's not. But family is family, big or small." Reuben had closed the gap. He was close enough to offer a friendly pat on the back, hoping to leave behind some positivity on the blue fur. "Be strong Stitch, I know you can do it!"

It took several minutes, but those words — those beautiful words — sunk in. Through the pain, the bared teeth and the snarls, Stitch found that he still had his ohana. Smaller, not the same, but safe and sound. And Reuben remained. A trusted confidant, a sharer of stories and sandwiches. A cousin.

"We're ohana," Stitch's sullen tone lightened. The eyes regained their luster, diminished but present all the same.

"That's right," Reuben affirmed. He knew what would come next, and invited his cousin to join him. "Ohana means family, and family means no one gets left behind, or forgotten." Proud. Happy.

"Things are going to get better. They will, trust me," Reuben added. "Our cousins would have wanted us to move on with our lives. To share joy and love with others, rather than sadness and woe. I think, couz, I think it's time to finally let go." The golden experiment grinned, and extended his hand toward his fellow experiment. Unwavering, sturdy, supportive.

Stitch enfolded his paw around Reuben's. Together, they rose. "Soka, Reuben."

"Hey, don't worry, it wasn't your fault." Reuben's paw slid around Stitch's shoulders, guiding the blue one along. "Now follow me — we're not quite done yet. I've got the perfect idea for how to end this night."

Reuben had saved this particular sky lantern just for tonight. Scrawled along the sheets of the thin paper cube was one special word. Reuben had brought one such lantern, and only one. Together, they carefully ignited the fuel patch, and the cube was lambent with warm light. It tugged on their paws, the flame eager to ascend into the heavens.

"Ready couz?"

"Stitch good, tukibowaba! "He bobbed his head in excitement.

"Okay then. One… two… three!" They slowly released their grip on the lantern, and ohana, scrawled across sheets of thin paper, ascended to the heavens. The wind immediately caught it in a humid embrace, and up bobbed the warm light. Not far from them, several other sky lanterns, of all kinds of shapes and sizes, followed theirs into the sky. Stitch and Reuben watched as the lights of their ohana illuminated the cool moonless night in a dazzling display of warmth and love.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Stitch did not hear his cousin. Their little lantern, their piece of ohana, swayed to and fro, up into the sky, with the rest. The glowing beacons floating above were meant to keep their memories alive, and to guide their fallen comrades, wherever they may be, through the cool and dark night.

There was no reason to cry tonight. But there was reason to smile.

The lanterns had been taken by the wind, and were converging, joining together in glowing constellations, when a sudden and cold blast of air blew across the ring of rubble, across the granite walls, across the golden words, and ruffled blue and gold fur. The wind passed as quickly as it had arisen, but it had cast quite the chill.

"Ooo, meega cold!"

"Yeah, geez, did the wind change directions or something?" Reuben was shivering, and rubbing his paws to create friction, to keep himself warm. "Y'know," Reuben managed through chattering teeth, "I could be wrong — nah, I probably am. But…ya gotta wonder. That blast of air — maybe they're trying to tell us something."

"Our cousins? Yuuga talk to them?"

"You know, I ask myself the same question couz!" He gently let Stitch down. "Just…a feeling, is all." Reuben stirred with that feeling. An energy encircled them. He knew — he could sense it — his cousins watching over them. It was all the two of them could ask for, and it was all they needed to know.

Reuben knew that missing his cousins would always be part of him. But, just because he missed them did not mean he would stand still. The lights above did not stand still. They bobbed through the night, always rising higher. And Reuben, and his cousin, and his ohana, they would rise ever higher.

The points of light were fading, and Reuben was ready to call it a night. "Come on Stitch, time to head back."

Reuben turned and stepped past the granite walls, 'In remembrance of' glittering in the vestiges of the lantern constellations. His cousin's footfalls were not behind him. He stopped to see that Stitch had planted his feet, breathing deeply as he stared into the sky. The luster of his eyes shined more brightly than any of the lanterns.

"Aloha cousins!" Stitch delivered to the darkness.

Reuben shied away, his face stained with long suppressed tears. He almost broke down upon hearing those words, yet managed to keep smiling at his cousin. _Yeah, until we meet again._

Stitch on the other hand, left his spot, and together, they passed the wall. Two sets of eyes glistened as they left behind the golden words, 'In remembrance of,' on their way home.

It was a night truly worth remembering.

 _You can't move forward whilst carrying the burden of your previous life with you. Sometimes, it's better to let go of the past and move on to the future._

 _THE END_


End file.
